Rehan

Rehan had been sitting there for hours.

Documents stacked on one side. Letters from nobles on the other. Requests for alliances. Marriage proposals involving distant relatives he barely remembered existed.

His eyes remained fixed on the report in front of him.

"...Increase taxes in the western—"

Bang.

The doors slammed open hard enough to make the guards outside flinch.

Rehan didn't even lift his head.

"...No."

Silence.

Then—

"Father."

"...No."

"But you don't even know what I was going to say."

"I don't need to."

He signed another paper.

"I know that tone."

Slow footsteps approached.

Rehan finally looked up.

His oldest son stood there with his hands behind his back, smiling like he had never once experienced shame in his life.

His clothing was messy despite being expensive. His hair looked like he had fought the wind and lost.

And that horrible smile.

The smile that always meant problems.

"What now?" Rehan asked flatly.